Hell Mourns With You
by Meshakhad
Summary: The Scoobies aren't the only ones who mourned Joyce's death...


A/N: I had this idea after watching "The Body".

Takes place after "Forever".

* * *

The funeral started at 3:00, but then it dragged on past sunset. After sunset, Buffy noted an increasing number of late arrivals – funeral crashers? By the time the eulogy was over, there must have been over a thousand mourners. And Buffy sensed something evil from them.

"Now, if anyone else would care to say something, share their memories of Joyce, please do so," the priest said.

A slightly rounded man in a suit got up first. Buffy was horrified at who it was – Mayor Richard Wilkins III.

"Joyce Summers was an exemplary citizen. She had to deal with raising her teenage daughter alone, and run a business at the same time. On top of that, her daughter was always getting into trouble. And then she found out that her daughter was the Slayer."

"But Joyce rose above her troubles. She gave this community more than an art gallery, or even a fine young woman. She cared for others."

"In particular, she cared about Faith. Anyone who knows me knows how close Faith and I were. I was a father to her, particularly because her actual parents were not so caring. But if I was Faith's father figure, then Joyce Summers was the mother."

"Joyce was a selfless member of our community, and her passing will be mourned."

The Mayor sat down. A blonde young woman in a black gown got up next. It was Darla, in vamp face.

"I want to echo Mayor Wilkins' words. Joyce was a trusting and caring woman, almost to a fault. I once went to her house, posing as a friend of Buffy's. She greeted me at the door, invited me in, even offered to get me something to eat. It nearly got her killed, but that's not the point. She was a good woman, and she will be missed."

Darla sat down. Buffy hoped that that would be the end of it, but she was even more horrified to see the Master rise.

"Normally, I would be overjoyed to see the Slayer suffer. But not like this. Joyce Summers was good at heart. A kind woman, who helped others. She raised the Slayer, and is in no small part responsible for the Slayer's power, which we respect."

"But more importantly, her death was pointless. By rights, she should have either lived to see old age and grandchildren, or die at the hands of an enemy of the Slayer – at our hands."

"Her death served no purpose," Luke added.

"The way she was taken from Buffy was wrong," the Master continued "No warning, just after she had recovered from a serious illness, and with a sister complicating things. She did not deserve to die like this."

"She was taken when her children needed her most," interjected Adam.

"The world will be a worse place without her. Even we see that." The Master gestured to indicate the others. Buffy saw many others in that crowd. Thomas, the first vampire she had slain in Sunnydale. Moloch, now in the form of a demon. Mr. Trick, sharply dressed as ever. Gwendolyn Post, still bearing the Glove of Myhnegon. There were others: Kakistos, Ted, the Judge, Ken, and hundreds of vampires she didn't recognize. All foes she had faced and slain. In fact… _every_ foe she had ever slain was there.

"It was not right that she died the way she did. It is not right that you suffer like this. The universe mourns her passing, and we do too."

"Tonight, Buffy Summers, Hell mourns with you," the Master concluded.

* * *

Buffy woke with a start. She was back in her bed, two nights after the funeral. The Master and her other enemies had not been in attendance.

But when she looked up, she saw two figures standing at the foot of her bed. One wore black robes, and had strange markings tattooed over his closed eyelids. She recognized him as one of the Bringers, whom she had encountered over two years ago.

The other figure was even stranger. It was herself – an exact duplicate of Buffy Anne Summers, down to the cow pajamas and the eyes that were red from crying.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I am the First Evil," her doppelganger replied in Buffy's own voice. "I have come on behalf of your fallen enemies, to deliver this."

The Bringer produced a scroll attached to a bouquet of black roses from within his robes. Buffy took it from him and unrolled it onto her bed. The scroll was singed around the edges, and smelled faintly of sulphur (as did the roses). At the top, there were words written in dark red ink:

_To Buffy Summers, the Slayer_

_Our deepest sympathies for your loss._

_Sincerely,_

The rest of the scroll was taken up by signatures. There were hundreds of them. Some were written in the same dark ink as the words on top of the page. Others seemed like they were burned into the paper. More than a few were written in demonic script. But several she could make out – as those of her enemies.

When Buffy looked up, the First and the Bringer were gone. But the roses and the scroll were still there. She hadn't dreamed it. They were real.


End file.
